


The Biography of Naughty Scaughty

by naughtyscaughty



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 22:09:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naughtyscaughty/pseuds/naughtyscaughty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title says it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Biography of Naughty Scaughty

     Back in the 40's, I worked construction. Business was booming. The country was taking a victory lap as the Second World War came to a close. And right as we were about to cross the finish line, Adolf Hitler was found dead, so we decided to take yet another victory lap. People were getting more relaxed as the threat of world domination disappeared and our economy started recovering. Everyone seemed to be in a better mood now that the world wasn't as dark anymore.

     Everyone except me...

     I began getting increasingly frustrated at how comfortable everyone became. There were still threats out in the world, but the American people are so eager to pat themselves on the back and move on that they forgot. I decided something needed to be done. I needed to balance things out... I needed to reintroduce fear to the masses.

     On a job one day, we were constructing the top levels of a sky scraper. I looked forward to lunch every day because my wife always packed me a chicken salad sandwich, and by god did I love chicken salad sandwiches. Like clockwork, lunch rolled around. I went to the ground floor to enjoy my meal. I bought a Coca Cola from a vendor across the street. The cola was warm, so I asked for a cold one. The vendor refused and this made me furious.

     I stomped back to the site and got out my lunch pail and gazed at my beautiful sandwich. I unwrapped it, picked it up and took a large bite. This was supposed to make me happy... but it didn't. I spit the food out of my mouth and looked at my sandwich.

     It was tuna salad. 

     I tried to wash the taste out of my mouth, but the warm tuna mixed with the warm cola left me no choice. I took my sandwich and marched back across the street. I looked at the vendor and I threw the sandwich at him, but he ducked and it just fell to the ground. He began berating me as all of the passerby’s, and even my fellow co-workers pointed and laughed at me. 

     It was time.

     For months now, I had been planning and scheming. I was going to put the fear back into the people. I went down below the ground level to the foundation of the almost fully constructed 60-story building. I found large crates of dynamite and I began placing them at each structural column. I meticulously ran a fuse from each box, to a single line that I would ignite. I struck a match and then my supervisor came down and saw me. “What are you doing?” he said curiously.

     “I will do it!” I yelled defiantly, “I’ll blow this place to Hell!”

     He starts laughing. This confused me.  He started calling people down to see me still holding the match, about to light the fuse. One by one, people came down and once again pointed and laughed at me.

     “That’s not dynamite,” he said still laughing, “Those are flares.” He laughed even harder, as did everyone else.

     This was not the grand spectacle I wished to display. I wanted to instill fear into the hearts of millions and instead, I was giving about two dozen fully grown men a reason to laugh. The match then burnt my finger, so I dropped it. I looked at it on the ground, burning out, just like my hopes and dreams of being this nation’s savior. I stomped the match and gave my foot a twist. “Hey, man!” I heard from the crowd of laughing spectators. I looked up and it was the cola vendor. He had his arm cocked back and then he flung it forward and released.

     My tuna salad sandwich slowly slid down my face. At this point, the paramedics were called because a man passed out due to laughing so hard. I maintain it was heat exhaustion, but the official medical report literally states, “Laugh induced black out.”

     So I was carted off to jail, never to see my wife again. I don’t care though; she should have known that I hate tuna. I lost my freedom, and I lost my dream. Although, as luck would have it, the Korean War was right around the corner, so the American people were introduced to fear once more.

     Here I sit, now an old man rotting in a prison cell. I haven’t seen a woman in over 60 years, so I’ve kind of lost my desire for them. As I grow older though, I realize that I never really had an interest in women. I just conformed to social standards to avoid persecution. That being said, I sit here in my cell and I write all day and all night, putting my pen to paper, using my skills as a writer to turn all of my fantasies about my fellow inmates and the guards, who use much desired excessive force, into semi-realities.


End file.
